Unexpected
by NinthFeather
Summary: FMA Day one-shot 3.Oct.11 - There were a lot of things Ling was expecting when he came to the U.S. for college. Edward Elric was none of them. AU, EdLing!Frienship.


_A/N: Don't forget. .11. (That's not only today's date including the year, but also the date in the pocketwatch in Brotherhood)_

_It's FMA Day! Rather than writing Ed and/or Al angsting about the date—because I've read other people's attempts at that and some of them are far better than anything I do will ever be—I've just written an AU. So, basically, this started as an attempt at adapting FMA into a college AU while drawing on elements of Brotherhood and the manga that hadn't been published yet when a lot of the AU fics I've read and liked for this fandom were written. There's some humor, some angst, really, about the same elements as the manga, except without the pictures (because I don't have time to draw a manga) or the action (because having gigantic alchemy battles is both impossible in the real world and frowned upon on college campuses). There was a time when I thought this might end up as a full-length story, however, I have classes, another ongoing fic, and an original story, so for right now, this is it._

_So, a few notes before you start the fic. This is based the manga/Brotherhood universe, set in a college somewhere in the United States during the present day, and is primarily EdLing!Friendship, with some Al and Mustang thrown in the mix. There are mentions of Royai, EdWin, and LingFan, but none of the girls show up this time—I ended up with an entirely male cast somehow… For the purpose of plot, I've changed some of the ages. Ed and Al are the same ages as canon, but Ling's been aged up to 17 to be a non-prodigy college freshman and Mustang's age has been lowered to 21 so that it makes sense for him to still be in college—I tried writing him as a teacher, but that only works for me when it's in a Harry Potter crossover. Mustang's subordinates are only mentioned and don't actually appear, but you can assume they're all around Mustang's age—either seniors or graduate students. There are events in here that directly parallel canon, but they have all been altered both to accommodate the modern setting and Ling's involvement in the plot._

_There is now a prequel-sorta-thing to this! After you finish this, please go to my profile and check out **First Impressions** for a little background on how Roy and the Elrics met._

_Oh, and a special thank-you to __**miladyRanger**__ for beta-ing this!_

_Wow, that was a long author's note. I hope I didn't bore you—now on with the fic!_

**Unexpected**

After he finished unpacking, Ling Yao wasn't really sure what to do with himself. He'd arrived at his new college, a small liberal arts institution in the Northeastern U.S., less than eight hours ago, and everything here was so strange compared to living back in China.

He'd spoken with Americans before, to practice his English and to learn about the country he'd be spending at least four years in, but he'd never spoken with so many of them in so little time. They talked so fast, and their words blurred together constantly, so that he could hardly understand most of them.

A few hours ago, he'd been relieved that his roommate, an upperclassman political science major named Roy Mustang, was an exception to this—his voice was slow and clear, and he pronounced each word crisply. At first he'd suspected it was for his benefit, but he'd discovered otherwise after listening to Roy use the same exact voice to flatter a series of three different girls over the phone within the last few hours. And now, Ling was just getting tired of hearing him use the same compliments over and over.

When Ling had first met Roy, he'd been surprised and a little happy to see that his roommate was Asian, as well—after all, with that ink-black hair and those dark, almond-shaped eyes, what else could he be—but his excitement dropped off a bit when Roy opened his mouth and the unaccented English of a native speaker came out. Roy was 21 and looked older, especially dressed in a loose white dress shirt and black slacks, as he was now.

He opened up one of the science books he'd bought at the college store, and tried to start reading, but his mind was still too used to Chinese and the English letters ended up looking more like a code than a language he'd studied for years.

A knock on the door gave him the perfect excuse to give up on finishing the reading. He glanced up and saw Roy pausing mid-sentence to wave vaguely toward the door. Ling nodded and got up to open it.

Ling couldn't really help staring as the door swung open to reveal a very short, brightly-colored person. He'd never seen anyone with eyes that shade of gold, not even in a movie. His hair was the same color, and _long_, the bangs falling into his eyes and the rest woven into a braid that was draped over his shoulder. He wore a red sweatshirt and black jeans…and did Ling mention he was _short_? He was maybe two-thirds of Ling's height, if that.

"Who're you?" the boy asked.

"Ling Yao," Ling said, bowing slightly. The boy looked at him like he was an idiot.

"So, where's Mustang?" the boy asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Right here," Roy called from behind him. "You interrupted my phone call."

"No, you struck out again and decided to blame the fact that she hung up on you on me showing up," the boy said bluntly.

"Whatever you say, Shrimp," Roy said, smirking.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THAT HE'D BE EVEN HARDER TO FIND IN A HAYSTACK THAN A NEEDLE?" Shrimp yelled, pushing past Ling to scream the last few words directly into Roy's face.

Ling felt his eye twitch slightly.

"Keep it down, people are trying to sleep," Mustang said.

"It's not even eight o'clock yet! Who's sleeping?"

"Probably some of the other freshmen, and the people who came in on planes and have jet lag…Actually, Ling, why are you still up?"

"My jet lag is never bad," Ling said. "I don't know why."

Shrimp glanced at him. "Really, who are you?"

"My new roommate," Roy answered smoothly. "Ed, this is Ling Yao. Ling, this is Edward Elric, usually known as either Ed or Shrimp."

"Nice to meet you," Ling said politely.

Ed made a vague grunting noise that Ling took as acknowledgement.

"So, what's up?" Roy asked.

"Professor Marcoh put the essay assignments for his Advanced Chemistry class in his online syllabus, so I'm trying to get a few of them done while I have free time," Ed said. "What style of bibliography does he usually use? He didn't mention it in the syllabus."

"He uses MLA, or at least he did last year," Roy told him. "But Ed, you actually have time to relax right now. Why are you doing essays?"

"I need to impress Dr. Marcoh," Ed said, an almost desperate look filling his eyes. "He's never talked to a student about his work on brain chemistry in the seventies, but maybe if I can prove to him that I'll understand it…"

"If anyone's going to be able to impress Dr. Marcoh enough to hear about that research, it'll be you," Roy said. "But you're going to burn yourself out if you keep going like this."

Ed rolled his eyes.

Roy sighed. "There's no reasoning with you, is there? E-mail me the essays when you're done; I'll proofread them. We both know your grammar isn't the greatest."

"Right," Ed said, a reluctant smile on his face, as he offered Roy a mock-salute.

The small blond headed toward the door, and, as he did, Ling noticed for the first time that he had a slight limp. It wasn't anything terribly noticeable, but Ling's martial arts training made him see these sorts of things. He thought about asking, then recalled Ed's earlier surliness and decided that he didn't want to be beaten up on his first day in the U.S.

The door clicked shut behind Ed. Before Roy could open his cell phone again and call yet another girl, Ling cleared his throat.

"Is that going to happen often?" he asked.

Roy chuckled. "Not too often," he assured Ling. "Ed _hates_ asking me—or anyone else—for help. He just knows that I actually know what I'm doing, and I won't tell him something inaccurate just to make fun of him, so when he needs help, he'll ask me."

"He's kinda…small…to be in college," Ling remarked.

"He's fifteen, believe it or not," Roy said. "His little brother's fourteen, and they're both freshmen, like you. He took courses here while he was in middle school."

"They are…what's the word…prodigies?" Ling asked.

Roy nodded. "The chemistry department gave both of them full-ride scholarships, though Al's not sure if he's going to be able to handle a full course schedule or not…Anyway, Ed probably doesn't like you—I think the only people he really likes are Al and Winry—but if you can get him to respect you, you'll be doing well."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ling gritted his teeth as the people in the room across the hallway continued arguing loudly. He had no idea what the argument was about—he couldn't actually make out words, just volume that was much louder than it ever should have been.

And it was only the first week of the semester. At this rate, he'd be forced to order some swords off the internet and misuse every sword-fighting lesson old man Fu ever gave him by midterms.

A particularly loud shout broke his concentration again. _Make that by Homecoming_, he thought.

"SHUT THE H*** UP!" someone shouted.

There was a loud banging on his door—the only sound in the room, he noted, pleased.

He opened the door, and there was Ed again. "Is Mustang here?" the blond asked grumpily.

"He's on a date," Ling explained. "It's a different girl than last night."

Ed rolled his eyes. "He's just in denial."

"Denial?" Ling asked, confused.

A broad grin appeared on the boy's face. "You haven't met Riza yet, huh?"

"Riza?"

"The daughter of the chemist Mustang interned with during high school," Ed said, smirking. "He's got a crush the size of a small country on her, but he's too full of himself to admit it. She knows about it, too. It's somewhere between funny and pathetic."

Ling wasn't sure he should be listening to gossip about his roommate. "Uh, so, why were you looking for him? Roy, I mean."

"Marcoh won't talk to me," Ed grumbled. "Mustang took a class with him last year; I thought he might have some ideas about how to get through to the guy…"

"Marcoh…that professor you were writing essays for?" Ling asked.

Ed nodded. "I _need_ to get a look at his research." The intensity in his voice and tone weren't just academic curiosity. Ed was looking for something, something specific, and he thought Marcoh could help.

Ling wanted to ask, but he didn't want to offend his roommate's friend. Especially since, despite the limp that Ling had noticed, Ed moved like a martial artist. He'd had training, lots of it, and at a high level. Ling had no desire to get on his bad side if it wasn't necessary.

"So, why're you here?" Ed asked as he sat down on Mustang's bed.

"This is my room," Ling said, faking incomprehension.

"You know what I'm talking about!" Ed said, with another eye roll. "Why bother coming to the U.S. to study? The universities in China are just as good, from what I've heard. There was actually a time when I thought I might go to school there…oh well."

Ed stared at the ceiling, but he obviously wasn't seeing it. There was a thin smile on his face, but the rest of his expression was slightly sad.

Ling sighed. "My dad owns a corporation, right?"

Ed glanced at him, the vacant sadness gone. Ling smiled to himself—his attempt to distract the younger boy had worked.

"So, he's getting older, and he's in the process of deciding who's going to inherit the company," Ling said.

"Isn't it usually just the oldest?" Ed asked.

"There are a lot of us," Ling said. "My father has been married six times, and he has a number of mistresses. If he simply chose based on age, no one would accept the decision. So instead, he's basing it on merit."

"The business program here's famous, right?" Ed asked.

"That's right," Ling said. "That's why I'm here."

"Couldn't you just start your own business, though?" Ed questioned, tilting his head to one side, just slightly, as he glanced at Ling.

"I would, if it was just me," Ling said. "But my father employs a lot of servants, and I know that most of my siblings would just fire them, given the chance."

"But you wouldn't?"

Ling smiled, remembering afternoons spent practicing martial arts and sword-fighting with old man Fu, his tutor, while his granddaughter, Lan Fan, looked on, her large eyes sparkling as they followed the swinging swords.

_"Why do you want me to learn this?" Ling asked, panting, as he barely blocked Fu's blade._

_"A good person is strong in both mind in body, young lord," Fu replied smoothly, swinging his sword toward Ling once again._

_"At least…don't call me… young lord…" Ling gasped, dodging Fu's thrust and attempting to attack the older man. "You're older than me…I should be showing you respect, not the other way around."_

_"I can decide for myself who to respect and who to be respected by," Fu said, effortlessly turning aside Ling's blade. "I call you 'young lord' because I believe that you can live up to that name."_

"Some of them are too old to go out and get new jobs," Ling said. "I was never close with any of my siblings, since our mothers didn't get along…so I suppose the servants were more like family to me than they were. I care about what happens to them, so…"

"So you're going to take on all of the responsibility of a large corporation, just so that they can keep their jobs," Ed finished for him. "I have to say, I wasn't really expecting something like that from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ling asked.

"Just what it sounded like," Ed replied. "You act like an idiot half the time—but I bet it's deliberate, isn't it?"

"I grew up surrounded by people who saw practically everyone as a threat," Ling replied easily. "Acting stupid's a good way to go unnoticed."

"Huh," Ed said. "I can't imagine that. Al's always been the one person I can always count on. It'd be…weird, not having him to trust."

"I have people I trust, too," Ling said. "They're just not my blood relatives."

"Fair enough," Ed said.

"With the way Mustang talked about you, I wasn't expecting you to be this friendly," Ling remarked.

Ed smiled. "Whatever he told you about me being antisocial was true. But I figure if he's put up with you for this long, he must see something in you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ling asked.

"Mustang's the type who only spends time willingly with people he respects," Ed said. "If he thought you were actually an idiot, he would have already talked you into switching rooms with Kain and rooming with Vato."

Ling raised an eyebrow.

"I don't pretend to understand it, but that's how Mustang is," Ed said, almost fondly.

"So you actually like him?"

"He's a jerk and he gets under my skin more than anyone I've ever met," Ed declared. "But he's a good guy and he helped me and Al out when he didn't have to. That's enough for me."

Ling was really wondering exactly how Mustang had met Ed and his brother, but he wasn't sure how to ask about it.

Ed glanced at the clock. "Crap, is that actually the time?" he groaned. "And I still haven't finished that dang project for Introduction to Art…I really, really hate that class. Anyhow, I better go. See ya later?"

"Yeah," Ling answered. "We should hang out sometime."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Hey, Ed!" Ling called, as he spotted a familiar blond braid crossing the cafeteria. "I'm sitting over there, if you'd like to…"

"Sounds great," Ed said, his voice tired. "I've had one heck of a day."

Ling nodded and watched Ed head for his table, before getting into one of the food lines and hoping that whatever he was about to get was edible.

When he finally returned to the table, with a plate of chicken nuggets and a grilled cheese sandwich in his hands, Ed was already seated and staring somewhat blearily into a bowl of beef stew.

"They put too much pepper into it," he said mournfully, stirring it with one of the cafeteria's bent spoons.

"Roy says they do that with all the soups here," Ling said.

"But it's stew…" Ed said. "And they ruined it."

"…I'm sorry," Ling said, a bit confused as to why this was important.

"Sorry, it's just like, this is the last straw," Ed said grumpily. "I'm failing Introduction to Art 'cause apparently my idea of art is different from everyone else's, my English teacher assigned us another essay, and Marcoh is ignoring me!"

"Well, that sucks," Ling said.

"I know," Ed said. "If only there was something I could do that would convince Marcoh I was serious about this…"

"Uh, maybe you could tell him why it's so important to you," Ling suggested.

Ed stiffened, something between fear and shame lighting in his eyes. Ling was suddenly very, very glad he hadn't asked why Ed was so interested in Marcoh's research earlier, because it was becoming really clear that Ed wasn't about to tell him or anyone else.

"But I'm sure there's something else that would work," Ling said, backpedaling as quickly as he could.

"Yeah, there's gotta be something…" Ed said. "Maybe if I showed him some of the higher-level stuff I've done…"

"That could work," Ling said encouragingly.

"Yeah!" Ed said, pulling out a notebook and starting to write in it. "So, how was your day?"

"Um…" Ling said, wondering if he should wait for Ed to stop writing to talk.

"Don't worry, I can do this and listen to you at the same time," Ed said, tapping the eraser of his pencil on his lower lip for a moment before starting to write again.

"Well, everything's going fine, I guess," Ling said. "I mean, English sucks, because I'm still not really used to the language, and I don't think the Philosophy professor likes me, but otherwise everything's good."

"What's the Philosophy professor's name?" Ed asked, without looking up.

"Kimblee, I think," Ling said, trying to sort the man's name out of those of the various others he'd met in the last few weeks.

"Well, that figures," Ed said. "I had him when I was taking Dual Enrollment classes here. He _hates _people like you."

"Like me?" Ling asked, unsure if he should be offended.

"People who care about other people," Ed explained, as he erased something and then started writing again. "He's in love with Nietzsche. Caring about people is weakness; you have to worry about yourself first."

"You're oversimplifying it a little, aren't you?" Ling asked, remembering what he'd read of Nietzsche's work. Old man Fu had put a lot of stock in the classics.

"Maybe," Ed said with a shrug. "I don't really care much about philosophy anyway…There! Finished!"

He turned the notebook around, to show Ling a page covered in equations that Ling had absolutely no chance of understanding.

"What is that?" Ling asked.

"…Sorry, I forgot you weren't Al," Ed said. "Well, see, this is the symbol for Beryllium…"

Ling, remembering how highly Ed had spoken of Al, decided to take that as a compliment.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A few nights later, Ling was at his computer, trying to make himself work on an English essay. It wasn't working. Facebook was way too distracting.

By now, he recognized the knock—heavier than it had to be and fast enough that Ling almost missed it.

"The door's open, Ed," he called.

"Oh, good," Ed said, coming in quickly. He was a little less "together" than usual—his ordinarily messy hair was sticking up even more than usual, his sweatshirt was on slightly crooked, and his tone was distracted.

"Something wrong?" Ling asked.

"Hey, you have World Politics, right?" Ed asked. "With Dr. Grumman?"

Ling nodded.

"Do you take notes?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ling asked. "Why?"

"Al has that class, too—a different period than you, of course—and he missed the last few periods," Ed explained. "He was going to ask one of his classmates for their notes, but it turns out that most of them skipped that day, and the ones that were there were asleep."

"They _slept_ in Grumman's class?" Ling asked incredulously.

"Yeah, Al was wondering how they pulled that off too," Ed said. "Apparently he's pretty loud."

"That's an understatement," Ling said. He picked up his laptop case and looked through it for a few seconds before pulling out a blue notebook. "Here's my notebook…only, there were a few words I couldn't remember in English, so I wrote them in Chinese."

"Al said Grumman talks pretty fast, so I can understand that," Ed said evenly. "Could you write the translations in the margins?"

"Yeah, but it would be easier if I just explained it to him," Ling said. "Besides, I kinda want to meet him. You talk about him a lot, you know."

Ed lowered his eyes, a dark expression on his face. "Yeah," he said softly.

"I mean, if it's going to be a problem…" Ling said carefully.

Ed was silent for a few moments. "Yeah, you can meet him, you just gotta promise me something."

"What?" Ling asked, confused.

"Don't stare," Ed said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Uh, there was an accident a few years ago…and…well…just don't stare, okay?" Ed asked, a defensive edge building on his voice.

"All right," Ling said, wondering what exactly Ed was getting him ready for. In his experience, people only told you not to stare if there was something to stare at.

They walked down the hallway in silence, Ed wearing a closed expression as Ling tried to figure out what exactly was going on.

They stopped at a door near the end of the hallway, where Ed pulled a key out of his sweatshirt pocket and unlocked the door.

Ling smiled to himself. That explained why Ed hadn't already had a big fight with his roommate. Now that he thought about it, it only made sense that the Elrics were rooming together—as the only two under seventeen in the dorm, they would probably have trouble finding other roommates they could relate to.

"Alphonse, I'm back," Ed called gently, opening the door.

"Hi, Brother!" came the cheery reply. "Did Ling have the notes?"

"Yeah," Ed said. "Actually, he decided to bring them in person. He wanted to meet you."

Ed walked into the room, keeping the door open for Ling to follow him.

"Hi, Alphonse," Ling said. "Your brother's told me a lot about you."

"He's told me about you, too," Alphonse said. "It's nice to meet you."

Alphonse was sitting on the bed closest to the wall, hands tucked into a green sweatshirt, the hood of which was pulled up. He wore blue jeans and a pair of beat-up green Converse. Blond hair only a shade paler than his brother's fell in thick bangs over his face, so that his features were difficult to make out.

Ling held out the notebook. "Here are the notes," he said. "There are a few parts written in Chinese, so if you want, I can translate them for you."

Al reached out his hand to take the notebook, and Ling invoked every single bit of training in etiquette that old man Fu had given him to keep from reacting when he saw the thin layer of scars that covered the boy's hand. The skin was mostly shiny, white scar tissue, a network of crisscrossed, raised lines that stood out in the dim light of the dorm room.

Ling kept his word and didn't stare as Alphonse opened the notebook and started to page through it. "Wow, you have really messy handwriting. It's not as bad as Brother's, though, or I really wouldn't be able to read it…hey, you weren't kidding about the Chinese!"

"It's my first language," Ling said.

"Oh, I didn't realize because you don't have much of an accent," Al said.

"Yeah, your English is a lot better now than it was when the semester started," Ed remarked.

"All the practice I'm getting helps, I guess," Ling said with a shrug.

An awkward silence descended.

At length, Al spoke up. "So what does this mean?"

Ling sat down next to him and glanced at the notebook. "…Negotiate a treaty," he said. "And that other one is 'President'."

"Wow, so I missed all of this?" Al said.

"I think Grumman's trying to make up for cancelling all of his classes last week when his car broke down," Ling said.

"Okay, can I have Brother give this back to you tomorrow at lunch time?" Al asked.

"Sure," Ling said.

"Thanks!" Al exclaimed, as Ling glanced at his face.

It was the same as his hands, covered in a faint network of tiny, pinkish-white scars. They stretched the skin across his face tightly enough that every angle of his face, from his chin to his cheekbones, was well-defined, and that his mouth barely moved when he spoke—it was probably difficult to move it at all. His face seemed almost expressionless, actually, if not for the golden eyes, slightly darker than Ed's, and full of emotion. Even though Al's mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes were smiling broadly.

"Let me know if you need to borrow them again, okay?" Ling asked, silently thanking old man Fu, whose lessons let him keep his voice even.

Al nodded, long bangs bobbing along with his head.

"I'd better go back to my room and try to work on my English essay, so I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay! It was…really nice to meet you, Ling," Al said, and Ling heard an implied _thank you for not treating me like a freak_ in his words.

"I'll come with you," Ed announced. "I have to ask Mustang about something anyway."

Ling knew that was a lie, but he wasn't about to comment.

Ed followed him back to his room, and plopped down unceremoniously on Mustang's bed as Ling sat down at his desk and turned on his computer.

"I wasn't joking about wanting to do my English essay," Ling said. "And if you're waiting for me to ask, you can wait a while longer. I know what's my business and what isn't."

To be honest, he was dying to ask, but he knew that Ed didn't want to answer, and he didn't really feel like alienating one of his only friends in the college.

"It was my fault," Ed said, without preamble.

Ling turned around in his chair to look at Ed, who was slumped on Mustang's bed, golden bangs shading his downcast eyes.

"Our mom…went into a coma when I was seven and Al was six," Ed continued, not looking up. "No one expected her to wake up, but Al and I wouldn't let them pull the plug. We thought if we did enough research…we'd find a way to wake her up."

Ling listened silently, wondering what any of this had to do with Al's scars.

"We threw ourselves into biomedical research…even interned with an expert in it," Ed shuddered a bit at the word "expert", making Ling even more confused. "We figured that if we could figure out the right combination of chemicals, we could stimulate brain activity and wake her up…It was a stupid idea. But we were desperate."

"Our father was a chemist. He had a lab in the basement…he used to work at home from there, before he left. After Mom went to the hospital, we got the key to it, and started using it for experiments. Nothing we were trying was working…and then we came up with a formula we thought would work."

"I didn't research it enough beforehand. I should have realized that those chemicals would react if I put them together…" Ed trailed off, then swore, punching the bed.

"What happened?" Ling asked softly.

"When we mixed the chemicals, they exploded," Ed said quietly. "Al was a little closer to them than I was—when I saw the mixture changing colors, I knew I had to try to get him away from it. I managed to pull him back, but the glass from the beaker still went everywhere. If we hadn't been wearing goggles, he would have been blinded too…and as it was, well, you saw."

"The chemicals in the smoke from the explosion screwed up his nerve endings," Ed continued. "He can still feel some things, but it's pretty limited. The doctors have him on a medicine that they say should fix it, but all it seems to do is give him insomnia and take away his appetite."

"That sucks," Ling said, feeling rather stupid. After all, what exactly did one say to a personal tragedy of that magnitude? It was pretty obvious that Al meant a lot to Ed, so seeing him hurt must have hurt him just as much.

"Yeah, and the worst of it is that our Mom finally died while we were both still unconscious," Ed said quietly, his eyes bright with tears. "We weren't even there."

Ling swore softly.

"Yeah, someone out there hates us, I think," Ed said. "But at least we managed to get out of the house alive. It was looking kind of dicey there for a while."

"So, what happened to you?" Ling asked, realizing where Ed had most likely gotten his limp.

"My right arm got burnt pretty badly when I was pulling Al away from the explosion," Ed said. "And one of the ceiling beams fell on my leg."

He grimaced, slightly, then continued. "It was pretty bad… the bones in my leg were too shattered to fix, and then my arm got infected at the hospital…they ended up amputating both of them. Our neighbors work with prosthetics and they managed to rig some pretty good ones for me, but there was only so much they could do."

Ling winced. "So that's why you have a limp?" It explained why Ling had barely seen him use his right arm, too.

Ed glanced at him curiously. "You noticed?"

"Martial arts training," Ling said. "My master taught me to observe the people around me, in case they were threats."

Ed raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting your old man's rich. Guess you'd have to worry about that sort of thing."

"Yeah, actually, the bigger problem was my siblings," Ling said. "Not all of them had a problem with making their competition go away."

Ed grimaced. "Well, that just sucks."

"They never actually managed anything," Ling said dismissively. "Between my tutor and Lan Fan…"

"Lan Fan?" Ed asked.

"His granddaughter," Ling said, trying not to blush.

Ed smiled knowingly. "So that's why you haven't been going out on double dates with Mustang."

Ling scowled at him. "Shut up."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Anyhow, thanks for not being a jerk to Al. He appreciates it."

Ling nodded. "He's a nice guy. It's hard to imagine such a polite, quiet person being _your _brother, though."

"Shut up!" Ed growled, but there was no real malice in it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ling wasn't precisely sure how he'd ended up on the floor of the hallway near Ed's room. He'd skipped lunch to write that paper, and he'd missed dinner because of the International Student Association meeting, and, come to think of it, he didn't remember having breakfast this morning, either. Great. It was eleven at night, and the nearest food place that was still open was halfway across campus. And right now, he didn't even feel like getting up. He'd just wait until tomorrow to eat…

By the sounds his stomach was making, it didn't like that idea much.

He didn't feel much like getting up, and the carpet wasn't _that_ uncomfortable…

He was hovering somewhere between consciousness and sleep when he heard, very faintly, someone exclaim, "Ling!"

The next thing he was clearly aware of was the smell of microwaveable ramen.

He looked around—he was in the Elric's room, and the smell was coming from a cup of ramen which, along with a plastic fork, was being offered to him by Ed.

"If you're hungry enough to pass out in the hallway, just tell us," Ed said grouchily. "We have extra food, y'know."

"Thanks!" Ling exclaimed, taking the fork and the ramen and digging in. "You're a lifesaver."

"Dramatic much?" Ed asked, rolling his eyes. Al, sitting on his bed again, was trying to stifle a laugh.

"Seriously, though, you shouldn't skip meals!" Al said. "You could get sick."

"You're one to talk," Ed said with a frown.

"That's 'cause the medicine makes me nauseous!" Al protested. "It's different!"

"I just got…caught up in things," Ling protested.

Another eyeroll, this one from both Elrics, greeted the statement.

"That settles it," Ed said firmly. "You're coming home with us for Thanksgiving."

Well, that was unexpected. "What?"

"Just what I said," Ed said. "You're not going all the way back to China for a holiday that's only celebrated here, right? And it would suck if you just ended up hanging around campus all week. So you're coming with us."

"Um, can you two even cook?" Ling asked, overwhelmed.

"We're not the ones cooking," Al laughed. "That's Granny Pinako and Winry."

"Who?"

"Our neighbors," Ed said. "Granny Pinako isn't actually related to us, but she was the one who introduced Mom and Dad, so she's practically family."

Ling recalled an earlier conversation. "Wait the same neighbors as…"

"Yeah, the prosthetics engineers," Ed said. "Winry's the one that made these," he added, shaking his left foot slightly and lifting his arm.

"Ed misses her," Al put in.

"I do not!" Ed protested, turning red.

Ling burst out laughing. "So it's like that!"

"Like what?" Ed demanded.

Ling just smirked.

"What?"

Al started laughing too.

"You try to do something nice for someone…" Ed grumbled.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ling hummed to himself as he walked into the science building. Physics lab was the one class he liked—it was mostly practical stuff. Besides, his lab group never needed the full time period allotted to them to finish, so he'd have time later to goof off. Maybe he'd send another prank e-mail to Lan Fan…

"…But I can't allow you to see my data," a voice said, breaking into his thoughts. It was low, and rough with age, its tone serious and its volume sufficient to carry through the hallway. It sounded as though it was coming from one of the classrooms.

"But why not?" Ed's voice demanded. That note of desperation…

It had to be Dr. Marcoh that he was talking to. While Ed had never really explained why he wanted Marcoh's research, it was pretty obvious—Marcoh was a neurochemistry expert and Ed's brother had massive nerve damage.

"I've said everything I'm going to say," Marcoh said evenly. "Healing one person's nervous system damage…the research I did shouldn't be used for something so trite."

Ling found himself fighting a strong impulse to punch Marcoh in the face.

"TRITE?" Ed demanded, hysteria raising the pitch of his voice.

"No one will ever see my research," Marcoh continued. "It's the work of the devil. And it can only lead straight to Hell."

"I'VE ALREADY SEEN HELL!" Ed shouted, and Ling could picture the undiluted fury on his friend's face.

"…No," Marcoh repeated. "Please go."

Ed blew out of the classroom like a hurricane wind, pushing the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall and storming past Ling without even seeing him.

Ling glanced at a clock hanging in the hallway. His class wouldn't actually start for a few minutes anyway. If he had free time, he could at least do something productive with it.

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh?" he asked, forcing a casual tone, as he walked into the classroom where Marcoh was still standing behind his desk.

He was less impressive than Ed's desperation for his research had made him seen—a stocky, graying, middle-aged man, slightly short, with an abundance of wrinkles and an expression on his face that spoke of a deep exhaustion.

"He doesn't understand what he's asking for," Marcoh said gruffly. "And what business is it of yours, anyway?"

"I'm his friend, and I happen to know that he understands perfectly," Ling said coolly. "He understands that someone he cares about is hurting, and that he wants to help that person in any way he can."

"The research I did never should have been done in the first place," Marcoh stated. "I won't continue the cycle by putting it in the hands of an impressionable child."

"Is that how you think of him?" Ling asked. "Is that really what he is? A child?"

"…Perhaps not," Marcoh consented. "But still!"

"The way I see it, you're just letting your guilt about doing unethical research get in the way of doing what you know is the right thing to do," Ling said. "And after Ed choked down every single shred of pride he had left in trying to get this research from you. Who's the child here?"

"Don't you have a class to go to?" Marcoh asked.

"Think about it, Professor," Ling said, as he left the room, careful not to let himself smile until his back was to Marcoh.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

Ed didn't even knock this time when he burst into Ling's room.

"Marcoh gave me his research!" Ed crowed, waving around a sheaf of paper.

"Good," Ling said, careful to look as surprised as he could.

Ed flopped down on Mustang's bed. "Finally!" he sighed.

"Maybe you shouldn't get your hopes up too much," Ling said carefully. "What you're looking for might not be in there…"

"I know," Ed said. "But I've made some progress, y'know?"

"Still…" Ling said.

"Look, we can worry about what happens if it's useless later on," Ed said. "Right now, I'm just glad I got it. It's Friday, all my classes are over, and I'm in a good mood, dang it! Let's go get Chinese food."

Ling raised an eyebrow. For a genius, Ed was pretty prone to illogical trains of thought.

"I don't like Chinese food," he said aloud.

Ed stared at him. "How does that even work?" he demanded. "You have to have eaten _something_ while you were back home!"

"Well, what I really don't like is American Chinese food," Ling explained. "It's completely different from what we actually eat in China."

"Really?" Ed asked.

Yes, sometimes Ling had to actively remind himself that Ed was a genius. But Ed was a nice guy, and fun to annoy, and interesting to talk to. Ling supposed he could have done worse as far as friends were concerned.

Besides, he was pretty sure that whatever they ended up eating, he could trick Ed into footing the whole bill.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

_A/N: So, there you have it. Just to clear things up, I did a little research and tried to make Ed's prosthetics something realistic. Currently, there are expensive, somewhat experimental prosthetic legs that can move somewhat like real ones, but take more energy than a real leg to move and are generally difficult to handle, thus, Ed's limp. There are also prosthetic arms that can be attached to the amputee's nerve endings, not unlike auto-mail, that allow them a range of motion that's fairly close to the range of motion of an actual arm. However, an arm of that type with fully working fingers is still a little ways off technologically, so, even figuring in Winry's awesomeness, I'm going with the assumption that Ed's prosthetic arm, and its hand in particular, are not quite as articulate as his auto-mail in canon. _

_Al's injuries are more fabricated—I don't know if there are mixes of chemicals that could cause that sort of nerve damage or not, but I figured that considering the sort of stuff Hohenheim was likely to have had in his lab, just about anything could have happened during that explosion. However, as I'm sure some of you know, medicines that are supposed to help but instead just give you insomnia and/or make you sick to your stomach exist in real life. It's not quite the same as canon, but I wanted to do something different from putting Al in a coma, which is what I've seen in a lot of AUs._

_My beta-reader told me I should explain exactly what was in Marcoh's research in the story, but I couldn't find a place, so I'll explain it here. Marcoh's research was on the nervous system, he experimented on humans, and he and his group did not follow the accepted procedures for using human subjects in research. Because I'm squeamish, I haven't really delved deeper than that, but suffice it to say that what he did was not legal or morally right. This was as close as I could get to Marcoh's work with the Philosopher's Stone in the setting of a modern college, but I think it works all right. Ed is desperate enough to help Al that he'll be willing to read the research, but he will not approve of it at all and there's a good chance that he'll end up refusing to use it, like he refuses to use the Stone in canon. I don't know if I'll end up writing about that or not._

_Which brings me to my final point—I'm not sure if I'm going to do more with this idea or not. I realize there are some loose ends here— Ed's reaction to Marcoh's research methods, for example. But the story ended up feeling most complete as it was, so I left it that way, though I might address those in one-shots like **First Impressions **(which should answer some questions about how Roy met the Elrics) later. That said, if someone else with more free time wants to try to write those scenes, or just about anything else within this AU 'verse, please PM me first, but I'll likely say "yes" unless you're planning on writing yaoi lemons or some such nonsense. _

_Thanks for reading, and please take the time to leave me a review—I really do appreciate them, and I reply to all the signed ones. Happy FMA Day, everyone!_


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